This was, as may before have been noted, a profuse intermixture of proverbs, some stale, some new, some sensible enough, and all savouring of a vocabulary carefully eschewed by every man of ordinary refinement in conversation.
"I have but a small tenement," said he, smiling; "but, thank Heaven, at Paris a man is not made by his lodgings.

Small house, small care.

Few garcons have indeed a more sumptuous apartment than myself." "True," said I; "and if I may judge by the bottles on the opposite table, and the bonnet beneath it, you find that no abode is too humble or too exalted for the solace of the senses." "'Fore Gad, you are in the right, Mr.Pelham," replied Thornton, with a loud, coarse, chuckling laugh, which, more than a year's conversation could have done, let me into the secrets of his character.

"I care not a rush for the decorations of the table, so that the cheer be good; nor for the gew-gaws of the head-dress, as long as the face is pretty--'the taste of the kitchen is better than the smell.' Do you go much to Madame B--'s ion the Rue Gretry--eh, Mr.Pelham ?--ah, I'll be bound you do." "No," said I, with a loud laugh, but internal shiver; "but you know where to find le bon vin et les jolies filles.

As for me, I am still a stranger in Paris, and amuse myself but very indifferently." Thornton's face brightened.